Momentary Distractions
by Pirate Queen's Trusted Advisor
Summary: Ever get distracted on your way to sleep? Ever visit Sweet Dreams, and get a little side-tracked? Allusions to BAMSR. Sappy. Mixed analogies.


Title: Momentary Distraction

Author: Firedust22 (Pirate Queen's Trusted Advisor)

Rating/Timeline/Spoilers/Category/Etc.: PG. Kinda-sorta half-alluding to Be All My Sins Remember'd. But not really. Mixed analogies. Thing of fluff.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no sue. I promise not to take over the Pegasus Galaxy and erradicate all hope for democracy while I'm there, too.

A/N: K, so corny. Yeah, I know. Might be a work in progress, I haven't decided yet. This is for FickleMint, mainly because she asked. But also cause she RULES. Tax-free! Thanks to ph0enixrose for helping me find a title.

Elizabeth Weir, diplomat and dignitary, _flopped_ onto the oddly-scented mattress. Her head landed on her forearm, with the face of her watch pressed into her chin. He had brought it to her. As she shifted, to avoid the impending circle impression, she thought about removing her shoes before she became to comfortably immobile. She then proceeded to not do anything about her shoes, choosing instead to attempt using the force to turn off the lights.

Her state of awareness did allow her the privilege of knowing when she was no longer solitary. A sneak peek upwards and outwards confirmed the newcomer's identity as John Sheppard. This only served to perpetuate her grogginess.

John helped himself to her shoelaces. The two of them had become increasingly close as a side effect of the last few days. Of course, their initial reunion had been overwhelming, what with one of them thinking the other was dead and the other thinking that the one that thought the other one was dead was thinking that she could never not be dead, and therefore the one that thought the other one was dead was thinking that the one whom he had meet was either a phony or a figment of the imagination. A flurry of hugging, distracted ass-kicking, and subsequent galaxy-saving ensued. Only now could he get around to helping her socks off.

"Is that a captain thing? To wear red on your toenails?"

She glanced back at him. A curtain of soft hair buried her gaze and half-smirk, but John was too focused on massaging her toes to stifle his grinning back.

"Dasch nize" she got out, with no small effort. There was a small cot made up for John at the far end of her quarters—hers was the only room on the ship not teeming with people, awake or asleep, with no concept of floorspace. She knew that he would come to occupy that cot soon, but she was also enjoying his current distraction. It had really been just a day, but she had forgotten how long a day really was.

When cold air was replaced by her drab excuse for a comforter over her legs and feet, she dimly remembered to expect Light to cease as Sleep finished conquering. As the former was being overcome by the latter, she recognized the object resting on her back as being of a consistent size as a hand—its weight and warmth consistent with that of John's hand.

"Can I... give you a back massage?" Quiet, but confident. Consciousness stood no chance. Her fist's tilt and thumb's twitch approved his request.

Her awareness seemed to take a dramatic sidestep. Not forward toward alertness and reasoning, not backwards toward static synapses; Sideways, into an alcove, so as to allow Cognizance and Oblivion to battle without her in the way.

Until, of course, John miscalculated Elizabeth's dimensions. Fingertips met ribs, snort-giggles were smothered, and tension-palpable-exploded into being where earlier there had been a clear advantage on the side of Oblivion.

"Ticklish?"

Elizabeth physically tensed; Pride panicked. Sleep seems to have left the arena.

John had pulled aside the curled curtain before she realized he had moved.

He encircled her, not with his arms, but with his gaze. Tendrils of affection, barbed with something far more primal, enveloped her, bracing against her ribcage. Her bed suddenly felt much bigger, and the universe much smaller. Cheered on by Tomorrow, Oblivion tore off his mask and became Sweet Dreams.


End file.
